


We'll Figure It Out

by Mirror_ball



Series: Serendipitous Discoveries [1]
Category: TharnType the Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Hands roaming everywhere, Is Gulf bold or just in a daze, M/M, Mew needs his answers okay, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, What kissing feels like after all this time?, When desires materialize then what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:09:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25252153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirror_ball/pseuds/Mirror_ball
Summary: The shooting for season 2 of TTTS has finally commenced and when Mew and Gulf are about to film the first love scene, with both of them topless, Gulf decides to take initiative for once.
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Series: Serendipitous Discoveries [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963978
Comments: 55
Kudos: 495





	We'll Figure It Out

They’re kissing again. Okay, technically speaking, it’s Tharn and Type that are kissing, but it’s Mew’s and Gulf’s mouths moving together in perfect sync. It’s been so long since Gulf last had those lips pressed against his, so long that he really shouldn’t be surprised they feel different now. And yet, he’s taken aback by the foreign sensation they ignite deep within the pit of his stomach.

Granted, their lives have spiraled into delightful chaos since the last time they kissed like that—mouth on mouth, noses bumping into each other, fingers intertwined. With so many things that have happened afterwards, the plethora of memories created together and words spoken between them, it would be ludicrous to expect their dynamic to remain stuck in one place. But this—Gulf muses as Mew succeeds in slipping the tip of his tongue into his mouth—this is certainly not the type of development he saw coming.

The thing is, he isn’t entirely unaffected. In fact, he finds himself in quite a bind the moment Mew’s lips descend onto his. They’re warm, and soft, and a little slippery from being excessively coated with lip balm, exactly like he remembered them to be, except they manage to pull a silent gasp out of him within the first couple of seconds, and that’s kind of new. Sure, they kissed on a number of occasions while shooting the first season, and the groans and sighs of pleasure Gulf produced were plenty. None of them, however—at least to the best of his recollection—were quite as quick to escape him. Just like none of them were his; they were all Type’s, or so he told himself.

It’s somewhat concerning how his lips move of their own accord now—impatient, fervent, hectic—but it’s completely disastrous how his hands are itching to do the same. Is it because, technically, they’ve been together for seven years and so Type’s free to touch whatever parts of Tharn’s body he pleases? Or is it because it’s been eleven fucking months since Mew and him last shared this level of intimacy? He can’t tell at this point, not with Mew’s mouth abandoning Gulf’s only to move down the side of his throat. It’s not long before initial pecks against the stretch of his skin evolve into open-mouthed kisses, and when Mew’s tongue darts out to lick into the dip of his collarbone, Gulf’s downright terrified at how his hips jerk up in response.

No one calls “cut”. The take shall continue, even though he so evidently went off script. Then again, the script doesn’t dictate all the rules. They’ve always been given a lot of room for interpretation when it comes to love scenes, after all. And if the script says _Tharn and Type make out shirtless on the bed_ , who says Type can’t buck his hips off the said bed to press himself against Tharn, right? 

Wrong. Very fucking wrong. Mew seems to share the sentiment, if his hand suddenly settling on Gulf’s hip to hold him down is any indication. Gulf’s slightly embarrassed, but mostly thankful, because it’s then that Mew’s lips find their way to his chest where they brush over the spot right above his sternum, and if not for that grip, Gulf wouldn’t be lying still for sure.

It feels different now that they’re skin-on-skin like that, with no fabric separating their chests. Other than in the memorable shower scene where he had to seem reluctant, if not somewhat disgusted, Gulf was never shirtless for their make-out sessions in the first season. Now, when the circumstances are far more favorable, a new world of opportunities suddenly opens up to him, and it’s with some level of bewilderment that he acknowledges his own eagerness to venture into it.

So, when Mew’s lips start to mark a trail down his chest, moisture lingering where his tongue flutters over his skin, he feels an overwhelming, and—frankly—rather baffling, urge to mimic Mew’s actions. It’s as if a switch flicks in his head, and before he can think any better of it, he wraps his arms around Mew and pushes to flip them, mirroring Tharn’s maneuver from the special episode of the previous season. With his mouth latching onto the curve of Mew’s jaw, he’s drawing a parallel between both seasons, a comparison between the Type then and the Type now. And the current Type is admittedly bolder, adventurous, accustomed to proximity and—to put it bluntly—all the homoerotic activities he’s been indulging himself in together with Tharn. Which is why—Gulf tells himself—he’s currently hovering over Mew, propped on his forearms and glued to Mew’s body from the waist down.

It’s exactly then that it dawns on him why Mew has been doing all that planking in the last season. Gulf should have most likely followed the protocol, too, if only to save them both the embarrassment that they’re bound to laugh off afterwards. Alas, it’s too late for it now, the telltale pressure against his thigh duly noted, so instead of scrambling to his knees in panic, he just dives back in, lips pressing a wet kiss to the spot between Mew’s perfectly symmetrical collarbones. 

If Mew’s taken aback by this sudden turn of events, he doesn’t let it show. There’s a reason why he has a reputation of a dedicated actor—Gulf muses—and so he lets his mouth travel south when his co-star shows no sign of objection. Mame and Pique both seem to be oddly okay with whatever nonsense unfolds in front of them, too, if the undisturbed silence in the room is anything to go by, and to Gulf, it’s encouragement enough.

Kissing Mew’s chest definitely feels different without the redundant layer of cotton separating his mouth from Mew’s skin. It’s far more intimate like that, far more intense, and he finds himself enjoying the foreign sensation, warm smoothness beneath his lips further fueling the urge of questionable origin burning deep in his gut. The urge that makes him reach out and press his palm flat against Mew’s middle chest for support, fingertips digging into the muscles there as he finally pushes himself up to his knees and lets his lips continue their journey down Mew’s toned stomach. 

It’s a hand that tangles in his hair the moment his lips reach the hem of Mew’s shorts that successfully pulls him back to reality. He looks up inquisitively, only to be met with an intense gaze full of warning and—dare he say—want. He is given zero time to ponder the reason behind that fire burning in Mew’s eyes before his arm lands in a vice-like grip, and he’s yanked forward, Mew’s mouth smashing against his own in a kiss that’s all tongue, and teeth, and smacking noises.

“Cut!” Pique finally gives up, dragging his hand down his face as Gulf pulls away rather reluctantly. “Right. Okay,” he clears his throat. “I hope you realize we’re gonna need to do this again.”

“Was that—” Gulf rolls off Mew in a sudden surge of realization. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah.”

“So why didn’t you—”

“You looked like you both needed it. We thought it’d do you good, help you let off some steam first,” Mame cuts in. 

“I know it’s been a while since we last shot a scene like that, and you guys…,” she gestures vaguely between them. “Never mind. Let’s take a break from this one and continue tomorrow, shall we?”

Yes, yes they shall. Because right now, all Gulf can do is avoid Mew’s gaze and curse himself for being so reckless. He must have lost his mind for a second there. Or for good ten minutes—fine, whatever. 

***

“There you are,” Mew opens the door a crack, peeking into what they like to call a nap room. It’s located at the far end of the set, away from all the hustle and bustle, and—most importantly—it features a much-needed bed. Mew smiles as he lets himself in, the door clicking shut behind him. “As expected.”

“Bed and I, perfect combination,” Gulf shrugs in his reclining position, not daring to look up from his phone. “I say bring on all the bed and sofa scenes.”

“There _was_ a bed in the scene earlier today,” the smile adorning Mew’s face transforms into a self-satisfied smirk. “Yet you didn’t seem very eager to nap.”

“P’Mew,” Gulf lets out a groan, hold on his phone tightening. “Please, can we not?”

“In fact, I was actually hoping we _could_ ,” Mew perks on the edge of the bed and the mattress dips considerably under his weight. “Talk about it, I mean.”

Perfect. Just what Gulf dreaded the most. Count on Mew to always feel the need for confrontation.

Even though an eyeroll accompanied by an exaggerated sigh is all Mew gets in reply, he doesn’t seem discouraged at all. “I really think we should.”

“I really would rather not,” Gulf mumbles, but he pulls himself up to a sitting position, nonetheless. He knows better than anyone that when Mew’s determined to achieve something, there’s no use going against him. Which, by the way, is one of the reasons why every chance he gets Gulf keeps emphasizing that Mew is indeed quite rough—read it as you will.

Resigned, Gulf leans his back against the wall, wincing in discomfort at the coldness that seeps through his T-shirt.

“Figures,” Mew looks like he’s forcing a smile. “You’re not one to talk about stuff like that. Or any stuff, really.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. Compared to other people, I talk to you a lot.”

“Just not about what really matters.”

Gulf squints at him malevolently. “Did you come here to pick a fight?”

“Sorry, that’s—” Mew splutters. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just really out of it right now, you know?”

Gulf bites into his lower lip. Here goes nothing. “Alright. Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I just keep thinking—”

“ _Over_ thinking,” Gulf corrects him.

“Maybe,” Mew nods. “Maybe I _am_ reading too much into this, but it’s been two hours now and I can’t get it out of my head. What happened back there, nong?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” Mew groans. “This whole thing. What was that? None of that was in the script.”

“Are we ever going solely by the script?”

“Fair enough,” Mew crosses his arms over his chest and averts his eyes from Gulf to fix them on the wall in front of him. “But it wasn’t just your usual ad-lib thing, was it? Or am I really losing my mind here?”

Gulf reaches up to massage his temple. If Mew keeps pushing his agenda, he’s sure the mild pressure there will soon morph into a raging headache. Can’t they just pretend that nothing happened and drop the topic altogether? Or at least put it on the back burner like they’re so accustomed to doing, preferably indefinitely? It’s just that words are difficult now. So, so difficult. “What was so unusual about it, phi?”

“You’re not making me say it,” Mew all but growls, climbing to his feet. “Pretend all you want if that’s what you decided to do.”

Gulf can tell Mew’s patience is wearing thin, if only by the way the latter clenches his jaw, and he curses his own stubbornness in his head. Sure, Mew’s always been short-tempered, but—in all honesty—he has nothing on Gulf in that department. He messed up in that scene, he did, but instead of owning up to it, he’s playing dumb like the coward he is. 

Guilt starts creeping up on him, and before he knows it, he’s yanking the blanket off himself in one swift motion and scrambling to his feet.

“Okay, fine,” he throws up his hands in exasperation. “It was different today, alright? Made me feel all… Weird. Giddy.”

Turning to face him, Mew hums in understanding, looking slightly appeased. “That’s something. And why do you think that is?”

There’s a pause while Gulf desperately tries to rack his brain for an answer that would simultaneously hold water and not expose him too much. He just wants it all to end, preferably with no drama, but of course Mew has to be his usual overthinking, overanalyzing self. Unable to come up with any satisfactory ideas for the longest time, he eventually gives up in favor of going with the version as close to the truth as he can make it. “I don’t know, phi. I guess it’s you. Something about you today.”

A glimmer of hope flickers in Mew’s eyes at the revelation. “Do you think you could try to be more specific?”

“More specific than _that_?” Gulf sighs. “You know I’m not good at this. I hardly ever know how to put my thoughts and feelings into words. Hell, half the time I don’t even know what I feel in the first place.”

“You’ll need to try harder than that, nong,” Mew says in a tone that makes it sound more like a warning than anything else, and boy, does he look hot when he’s all serious like that. Gulf decides to pocket away this passing thought for later contemplation. “It’s important.”

Gulf very nearly groans. Of course it’s important, but pouring your heart out when words don’t come easy to you seems like such a gargantuan effort. “It’s just been so long.”

Mew narrows his eyes at him, as if Gulf wasn’t already starting to sweat under his intense gaze. “Since what?”

“Since we were last like that,” Gulf says in a small voice. “Intimate.”

“And you think it’s a bad thing?”

“I just—” Gulf rolls his eyes, angry at himself for not being able to convey whatever his thoughts are right now—and those are all in a tangle. “I wasn’t thinking. I just got carried away, is all.”

“But _why_ did you get carried away, is what I’d like to know.”

“I don’t know, phi! I guess, in a way, I must have missed this, right?”

“Missed being intimate with me?” Mew pushes further, and it’s evident he’s not giving up on his little interrogation anytime soon. “Why?”

Gulf’s _this_ close to getting ticked off. “For God’s sake, phi! Why do you suddenly need all those labels?”

“Because I’m tired, nong,” Mew says with an obvious strain in his voice, and Gulf doesn’t doubt these words one bit. He knows it wears Mew down, this vagueness between them, he’s known that for a while. And in all truth, Gulf may be a little tired, too. He just doesn’t let himself ponder too much—it’s definitely safer that way. “I’m sick and tired of this guessing game we have going on. But then I enjoy it, too. It’s like I’m addicted.”

“Then why give it up?”

“Because otherwise I can’t do _this_ ,” Mew draws near, an extended hand making its way to Gulf’s hip, coaxing him closer.

“As if you’re not hugging the shit out of me 24/7 already.”

“I’m not finished,” Mew says in a low voice, pushing against him gently but unmistakably, until Gulf loses his balance and staggers backward. One step, two steps, three, and he’s slowly being backed up against the wall, Mew’s eyes trained on his all the while.

“P’Mew?”

“I would have never dared bring it all up if not for how you acted earlier,” Mew gives him one of Tharn’s trademark looks, the apprehensive one, and Gulf can’t decide if he wants to pull at his own hair in horror or buzz with excitement. “Even though it’s not labelled in your head, I can see it’s there, the need. You _must_ feel it, nong, you must, or I’m a goddamn lunatic.”

Mew’s words are like a punch to Gulf’s gut and if it wasn’t for the hold on his waist, he would be doubling over from the imaginary impact. Because the truth is, Mew’s right. Even though Gulf usually shuns extreme scrutiny, especially when it comes to issues that just make his head spin, he has done enough thinking to arrive at this conclusion. The longing he once felt might have been dormant for the last couple of months, deliberately suppressed and kept at bay at all times. But earlier today, with Mew being so close and not off limits for a change, it was on full display, and there’s no way he could possibly try and play it down without making an absolute fool out of himself.

The thing is, there has always been an air of ambiguity about Gulf, something he’s been hoping to both ditch in a jiffy and preserve forever, and even though living in a state of constant contradiction is not exactly his definition of fun, he doesn’t appreciate how the decision to choose one option over the other was made for him without prior consultation. All that’s left is complete transparency, and it lowkey scares the shit out of him how Mew can read him better than he could ever read himself.

Which is why he’s silent. Silent as one of Mew’s hands leaves his hip in favor of running up his arm and the side of his neck before eventually settling over the taunt line of his jaw. Silent as Mew brings his face that much closer, eyes boring into him with so much intensity he can hear his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. Silent, until he’s not anymore, for Mew rests his forehead against his, and it’s all too much to handle.

“P’Mew,” he breathes, because apparently his vocabulary is now reduced to these two words only. “P’Mew.”

“What is it?” Mew whispers, lips mere millimeters from Gulf’s. “What is it that you really want, nong?”

There’s a pause as Gulf squeezes his eyes shut, weighing his options as carefully as he can in what little time he has, and eventually swallowing hard at the gravity of the words he’s about to utter. When his eyes flutter open, there’s composure and determination written all over his face. “I think I want you to kiss me.”

There, he said it. With elation clouding his judgement, he’s hardly aware of how much of a gamble this is, how much there is at stake. But there’s no escaping it now, this rather compromising situation he put them in, so might as well go all out and see where it takes them. It’s not like he’s only just acknowledged that being this way with Mew—close, intimate, daring—is what he thrives on, what he’s secretly wanted for _months_. On the contrary, in this particular moment, he can barely recall why he decided to smother this yearning inside of him in the first place. Exactly what kind of stupid self-preservation excuses has he been feeding himself all this time?

Valid ones, apparently, he figures as he observes a look of uncertainty slowly but surely take over Mew’s features while he pulls away just so. He knows this expression all too well. It’s not uncommon for Mew to be like this, take one step ahead and two steps backwards immediately after.

“If I do,” he rasps out, his gaze and hold on Gulf both unwavering. “It’s not going to be Tharn. You do understand the implications, right?”

Jesus, yes, what the heck? Gulf wants nothing more than to roll his eyes at Mew in response, maybe throwing in a sarcastic remark for good measure, because now’s not the time for overthinking. Now’s the time for all the carpe diem shit.

“We’ll figure it out,” is the best Gulf can manage under the circumstances, hoping it’s enough to remove that seed of doubt planted in Mew’s mind. He blinks at him with bated breath, even if his own fear of potential consequences can only barely be topped by the fear of Mew changing his mind to leave him here all alone, flushed and leaning heavily against the wall.

“Mhm,” Mew hums in agreement, gaze falling to Gulf’s lips. He looks completely dazed. His thumb traces a semicircle over Gulf’s skin, from the corner of his mouth all the way to the lobe of his ear, and Gulf can’t find it in himself to try and suppress the delightful shudder it induces. “We will.”

As if taken by surprise, Gulf draws in a sharp breath through his nose the moment Mew’s lips press against his. He’s been expecting this to happen for the past couple of minutes at the very least, but to say he’s slightly underprepared would be a serious understatement. Part of him didn’t believe this would be the outcome of today’s interaction. Part of him still thinks none of this is really taking place.

And yet, here they are. Kissing against a cold wall in the middle of the set, right next to the bed they usually use to recharge their energy in between the scenes. With no one around to watch them for a change.

It’s this very thought that has him teetering on the brink of madness. The thrill of doing something so familiar that feels so very foreign makes his head spin, and he grabs onto Mew’s shoulders to ground himself, squeezing with abandon as his lips are being coaxed open.

If Gulf didn’t know how uncertain Mew was about kissing him mere seconds ago, he would never be able to tell by the way he’s being handled now. Mew’s hands are roaming everywhere, one currently tangled in his hair, and the other grabbing onto his side to pull him closer and closer still, until they’re completely flush against each other. And his lips—

His lips are not Tharn’s, and that’s without a doubt the biggest compliment he could gift Mew with, considering that Tharn’s were already intoxicating and Mew’s are so much more than that. Perhaps it’s a matter of being aware of just what it means for them to be kissing out of character like that after all this time, but the way their mouths move together—assiduously and with absolute intent—sends Gulf’s senses into overdrive. 

It feels like one of those rare experiences that you’d like to make a special compartment for in your brain and keep there forever under lock and key. And to Gulf, it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Is what they’re doing now supposed to replace the vagueness between them with something more defined? Is this the label Mew was so eager to find for them mere moments ago?

Befuddled, Gulf tightens his grip on Mew’s shoulders like he’s an anchor keeping Gulf from descending into delirium, and he earns himself a swipe of tongue along his lower lip in response. He tilts his head slightly to the side in a semi-conscious attempt to find a better angle, and when the kiss deepens, he decides it’s a very welcome development indeed. And a well-designed one, too.

There’s no languidness in how their mouths work against each other at this point. There’s only impatience and insistence, and a lot of tongue. A breathy moan escapes Gulf as Mew’s hand presses hard against his lower back, their fronts rubbing together in the process, and Gulf can almost feel a smirk against his lips and a low growl against his chest. Mew’s hand follows the arch-shaped trail delineated by his lumbar vertebrae only to slide over the swell of his backside, and when it does, Gulf barely stifles a whine at the lack of a squeeze there. It almost scares him how much in this moment of absolute bliss he wants Mew to touch him in all the intimate places, all the places he would let Mew touch in his nighttime fantasies back when he still allowed himself to dream about him. Long before he realized this would only bring him pain and loads of unresolved sexual tension.

Now, reduced to a combination of heavy breaths and wandering hands, they continue to cling onto one another like there’s not a single doubt left in their hearts, fingers curling into each other’s T-shirts, grabbing onto the fabric and the skin beneath. Is it how months and months’ worth of pent-up need manifests itself? Is it what it feels like to finally have your most diligently hidden desires materialize? Gulf doesn’t have definite answers to either of those questions, but when Mew’s hand finally makes its way back to his ass and gives it a squeeze this time around, all reason flees his mind anyway.

It’s an energetic knock on the door that forces them apart. Startled, they both freeze in their positions and hold their breaths, gazes full of panic and fingers still digging into each other’s skin. Judging by the ridiculous pounding in his chest, Gulf figures his pulse must have just gone through the roof.

“Nong Gulf, are you there?” The question delivered in Mame’s voice reaches his ears. “Time to wake up, your scene is next.”

Clearing his throat, Gulf rushes to reply, “Not asleep, P’May. Be there in two minutes!”

Judging by the sound of the retreating footsteps, Mame’s content with Gulf’s declaration. Relived, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly to calm himself down.

“Nong—,“ Mew begins, sliding his hands up Gulf’s biceps, and the latter can barely ignore the tingles that the simple touch sends down his spine.

“Don’t,” he cuts Mew off. “Not now. I’ve got to go.”

Disentangling himself from Mew, he makes to slide out of the tight spot between him and the wall, but decides against it the second he sees the all-too-familiar mixture of anguish and confusion pour into Mew’s eyes. With a sigh, he stretches his neck and presses a chaste kiss to Mew’s mouth before parting his lips slightly and briefly closing them around Mew’s bottom one. When he pulls away, the anguish is gone but the confusion still lingers.

“How about you drive me home tonight, phi?” Gulf asks, and the perfectly shaped lips he secretly likes so much stretch into the brightest of smiles. “I told you we’d figure it out, didn’t I?”

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel might come into existence at some point, if anyone's interested to see where the boys' decisions take them. 
> 
> As always, please come say hi on twt @ mirror_b_a_l_l. Thanks for reading!
> 
> **EDIT:** The sequel is now available! If you'd like to see how the story unfolds, check out [A Dormant Desire Can Also Catch Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26918110).


End file.
